


don't believe in coincidence

by Spikedluv



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:50:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phil discovers that Clint is in the same city in Turkey and requires an extraction, he disobeys a direct order from Fury to get him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't believe in coincidence

**Author's Note:**

> Reunion & fix-it fic. Cameos by other Avenger and SHIELD characters.
> 
> Written: December 26, 2013

Phil stood just inside the lab door watching Fitz and Simmons at the table, their eyes on the data scrolling across the holo-screen, and listening to their excited and rapid fire debate over the meaning of the readings they were getting from the rock face they’d been sent to assess. He caught only one word in three, and understood merely half of those, but just as he was bout to remind them that he was also in the room and needed them to speak so he could actually comprehend them, Agent May stepped up to the lab entrance.

“Sir,” Melinda said.

She didn’t sound overly concerned (then again, Melinda rarely did), but she wouldn’t have interrupted him, in person, no less, if it wasn’t important. Phil stepped out of the lab and into the cargo hold beside Melinda and tuned out FitzSimmons.

“Agent May.”

“I’ve been monitoring the communications from the Hub,” Melinda said.

That in itself was neither surprising nor worrying, but the fact that she was bringing whatever she’d heard to his attention was both. “What is it?”

“There’s an agent in Kabala. He’s gone dark. There’s no extraction planned.”

“Why didn’t they call us to get him out?” Phil asked. As luck would have it, they were currently parked only a couple miles outside the city.

“I’m sure they believe in his ability to extract himself,” Melinda said, then paused. “But there might be another reason.”

“What?” Phil said.

Melinda hesitated a moment before answering. “It’s Barton, sir.”

Phil’s blood froze in his veins as it always did at the thought of Clint being left alone to fend for himself. Not that Clint wasn’t capable of it, but Phil and Fury had made a deal back when he’d asked Phil to remain dead as far as the Avengers were concerned, and that deal did not include Clint alone in Kabala without an extraction plan. Still, Phil very much doubted that he was supposed to be aware of the situation. Something Melinda must’ve known when she brought him the information.

“Why did you tell me this?” Phil asked.

Melinda gave him a look. “I didn’t,” she said.

Phil nodded his understanding. “Command center,” he said, and then left FitzSimmons to their animated discussion and led the way up the stairs to the second level. Ward and Skye were sitting in the lounge, each studying a tablet, and Phil waved them into the command center with them.

“We have an agent in Kabala in need of extraction,” Phil announced.

“Are we picking him up?” Ward said.

He didn’t let it show, but Ward had his own ideas on sending agents in without extraction plans (especially when said agent wasn’t aware that there wasn’t an extraction plan) since the op in Georgia.

“I thought we’d offer him a ride, yes,” Phil said. “He’s gone off-grid, though, so we can’t reach him via comms. Chances are he’s avoiding cameras since he’s not expecting an extraction, but Skye, I’d like you to . . . .”

The views from half a dozen cameras immediately popped up on the holo-screen, and then switched to another half dozen. Phil raised his eyebrows at her.

Skye shrugged. “I was bored. I thought we were going to have a really cool artifact to study, but turns out it’s just a rock.”

“News feeds,” Phil said. “We need to figure out what he was here for.”

“How’s that gonna help?” Skye said, continuing to pull up camera feeds while Melinda worked on news feeds.

“If he blew up a warehouse on the north side of town, he’s not going to stick around,” Ward explained. “It gives us an idea of where to start looking for him.”

Melinda threw up a news report of a fire at a warehouse outside of the city. Luckily the fire was on the eastern side, while they were parked on the west, which meant that they weren’t going to have visitors converging on their location.

“How’d you know it was a warehouse?” Skye said.

“It’s always a warehouse,” Melinda replied dryly.

A few more taps of the keys and Melinda had the pertinent information up on the screen alongside the live news feed covering the fire. The building was owned by Nazim Demir. Demir was a low level gun runner who liked to supply both sides in any given fight. Phil knew this because Demir had been on SHIELD’s radar for a couple of years, but as far as scum went, he was minor scum and there had been much bigger fish in the sea.

Phil wondered what had changed to make Demir a high level target important enough to send in Barton. Still, that wasn’t important right now. What mattered was finding out where Clint had gone to ground and getting him out.

“Pull up all the cameras you can find near that warehouse,” Phil told Skye.

While Skye located and isolated the cameras Phil had asked for, he studied the news feed. Dead bodies littered the ground outside the warehouse as the fire blazed in the building behind them. While they watched, a box of bullets or grenades overheated and caused an explosion that sent a plume of smoke and flame into the sky.

“He’s not subtle,” Melinda said.

Phil fought a smile. “Go back to when the fire was started, see if we can spot him. Also, I need a map of the city.”

Phil studied the map while Skye worked on the camera feeds. “Run facial recognition on the feeds, see if we can get a glimpse of him,” he told Melinda.

Melinda brought up the program and Clint’s photograph from his file and started running it against the camera feeds Skye had hacked into.

“Agent Barton?” Ward said, sounding surprised.

“Wait,” Skye said, leaning forward over the table to study the photo. “Is that Hawkeye?”

Before Phil could reply, their comms signaled an incoming message from SHIELD HQ. Without needing to be told, Melinda removed the holo-images back to the flat screen on the table. Phil nodded to her and then answered the call.

“Director Fury,” Phil said when Nick’s face appeared on the screen.

“Agent Coulson,” Fury said. “I need your team to head back to HQ immediately.”

“We’re still in the middle of studying the artifact,” Phil said, his stomach dropping at the mere thought of leaving Clint behind.

“Rock wall,” Skye muttered.

“Get over it,” Phil muttered back.

“It’s going to have to wait,” Fury said, ignoring their by-play.

“What’s going on, Director?” Phil asked, waiting to see if Nick would tell hm about Clint.

Fury looked meaningfully at Skye. Phil turned to her.

“Skye, I’m sorry . . . .”

“Seriously?” Skye said.

“Why don’t you go see if FitzSimmons have begun speaking English yet.”

Skye rolled her eyes and stomped out of the command center, muttering to herself.

“Don’t they already speak English?” Fury said.

“Only sometimes,” Phil said. “When they’re not excited. What are you recalling us early, sir?”

“We’ve had reports that the WSC has people in the area,” Fury said.

“What are they doing here?” Phil said.

Fury just glared at him, and Phil understood immediately – they were looking for him. On the other hand, they could be after Clint, since he just happened to also be in the area. Or both of them. It was worrying, though, if they knew about the location of either Phil or Clint, aside from the danger of being captured, because that meant there had to be a mole in SHIELD. Clint’s missions were normally classified to Level 6 or higher, and very few people knew that Phil was even alive, much less where he was at any given moment.

“Understood,” Phil said. “But how do they know where we are?” he voiced his concern.

“Damned if I know,” Fury said. “We’re looking into it. In the meantime, I want you in the air immediately, if not sooner.”

Phil had no intention of sticking around long enough to let anyone from the WSC get eyes, much less hands, on him, but he also had no intention of leaving without Clint.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Phil said, “I didn’t catch that, what did you say?” When Fury swore and repeated the order, Phil spoke over him, “I’m sorry, Director, but I can’t hear you. I’ll see about getting FitzSimmons to fix the comms. And we’ll be home as soon as we can be.”

Phil disconnected the call, then turned to Ward and Melinda, who were both looking at him with varying degrees of interest. Neither one was aware of the WSC’s interest in Phil.

“As you’ve heard, we’ve been ordered by the director to leave.” Phil said. “But I’m not going to leave a man behind. We’re bringing our agent home. Any questions?”

“No, sir,” Ward said.

Melinda just raised her eyebrows.

“Agent May, continue running facial recognition and monitoring the feeds. Skye can help you.”

“Do you want me to head into town to find Barton?” Ward said.

“No,” Phil said. “I want you to go with FitzSimmons, tell them we’ve been ordered home ahead of schedule. They need to get any additional readings they want before wheels up in an hour. Send Skye up when you see her to help Agent May.”

“You’re going to find Barton?” Ward said, unable to hide his surprise.

“No,” Phil said. “He’s going to find me.”

~*~*~*~

Phil ordered two cups of coffee, though he didn’t expect to be there long enough to drink it. Melinda gave Phil another update in his ear (“Still no sign of him.”) just as Clint slid into the seat across from Phil, his expression giving nothing away.

“Subtle,” Clint said, a tilt of his head indicating Lola, which Phil had parked right in front of the café.

“We don’t have time for subtle,” Phil said. “We need to leave ASAP. The WSC has people on their way here.” He nudged the cup closer to Clint. “You should really try the coffee, it’s good.”

“Not drugged?” Clint said.

“No.”

Clint took a sip of the coffee and hummed his pleasure at the taste. “You’re right, it is good.”

Phil nodded and forced his mind to stay on the mission, which was to get Clint, and himself, out of Kabala safely, and not on how damned good Clint looked right now.

“Why are the WSC on the way, and how long are we going to ignore the elephant in the room?”

“Nick says they’re after me, but it’s equally possible that they want you. If we could put off discussing the elephant until we’re on the Bus, that might be best.”

“Fury sent you to pick me up?”

“Not exactly,” Phil said, “but we were in the area.”

“If I don’t like what you have to say, I’m going to punch you. I might punch you anyway.”

“Understood,” Phil said.

“I’m taking the coffee with me.”

“If you spill it you’re cleaning Lola.”

“Lola loves me.”

“She’s got good taste,” Phil said, then activated his comm. “We’re coming in, be ready to go when we get there.”

“We’re ready to go now,” Melinda said. “You’re holding us up.”

Phil slid behind Lola’s wheel with a light heart. He hadn’t seen Clint in person since the Helicarrier when he was under Loki’s control, and though he looked different now, a few more scars, a few more lines around eyes that didn’t gleam with delight because he’d managed to get Phil to crack a smile, he was still beautiful to Phil.

And yet, they had so much to talk about once they were back on the Bus. Phil never thought he’d get the chance to have this conversation with Clint, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t held it inside his own head a dozen times. He couldn’t remember a single one of the explanations he’d given that had satisfied imaginary Clint.

The drive out to the Bus was short and made in silence, Clint sipping at the coffee Phil had bought him, slouched in the passenger seat as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Phil wasn’t deceived. He knew that Clint was alert and ready to move at a moment’s notice.

“How’s the coffee?”

“Worth the trip to Turkey.”

As they approached the Bus, the ramp was lowered for them, a lone figure standing on the deck. Phil drove Lola up the ramp and it closed behind them.

Ward activated his comm. “They’re onboard,” he told Melinda.

Phil felt the vibration of the vertical thrusters beneath his feet when he got out of the car. He swiped a finger along Lola’s front fender as he walked around her, and frowned. “Lola’s going to need a wash.”

“Don’t look at me,” Clint said, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “I didn’t tell you to drive her out there.”

“Status, Agent Ward,” Phil said.

“FitzSimmons weren’t happy about leaving so soon,” Ward said with a grimace that suggested he’d borne the brunt of their displeasure, “but they got as many readings as they could. Director Fury has called three times since you left.”

“I’ll call him back right now,” Phil said. “Barton, this is Agent Ward, Ward, Agent Barton.”

“Welcome onboard, Agent Barton,” Ward said politely, though not without some reservation, as well as a hint of excitement.

Phil shook his head. Despite Barton’s reputation as being difficult to work with among some SHIELD agents, others were more willing to see past that to the results he got. It appeared that Ward straddled that line.

“Thanks for the ride,” Clint said wryly, as if he sensed Ward’s wary internal fanboy.

Phil headed towards the stairs, giving FitzSimmons and Skye, who were doing a poor job of pretending they weren’t eavesdropping, a wave as he passed the lab. He led the way to the command center and let Clint in before turning to block Ward and closing the door. Ward, left outside to make himself comfortable in the lounge, looked equal parts annoyed and resigned.

Phil contacted Fury, who came onscreen already spitting mad.

“Where the hell have you been?” Fury demanded.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Phil said, “but our comms went down. I contacted you as soon as I could.”

“I know that’s a damned lie, Coulson,” Fury said. “Where are you now? And your answer better be that you’re in the damned air.”

“We are, sir.”

“What’s your ETA?”

Phil opened comms to Melinda. “Agent May, what’s our ETA to New York?”

Melinda told him, and Phil repeated the number to Fury, who swore.

“That means you just took off,” Fury said.

“About five minutes ago, actually, sir,” Phil said.

“What was the hold up?” Fury demanded to know.

“I gave FitzSimmons an hour to take some additional readings of the artifact,” Phil said. “And while they were doing that I went for a cup of coffee. You know how much I love the coffee here.”

Clint moved so he would be spotted by Fury. “In his defense, sir, it is damned good coffee.”

“Son of a bitch,” Fury swore. He glared at Phil. “You broke our deal.”

“I’d say you broke it first, sir,” Phil said evenly, though he was feeling anything but. “You promised no more solo jobs.”

Phil had agreed to maintain the pretense of his death only because doing so kept Clint safe, and Fury had promised to limit Clint’s ops to those with the Avengers, or with a full SHIELD team to back him up. The WSC wanted to get their hands on Clint, if for different reasons, almost as badly as they wanted Phil.

“It couldn’t be helped,” Fury said, back to sounding infuriatingly calm.

Phil did not find that explanation comforting in the slightest bit, and he was sure that his expression, blank as he tried to make it, gave him away.

“Barton, it’s good to see you alive. We’re going to have a long talk when you get to New York,” Fury told Phil.

“Yes,” Phil agreed. “We are.”

The transmission cut off abruptly and the SHIELD logo filled the screen once more.

“You going to tell me what that was all about?” Clint said.

“Yes,” Phil said immediately. He’d never backed down from making the tough decisions, which is why they were in this position now. “But later. Right now you could use a shower, and probably something to eat. And then we’ll talk.”

“Great coffee aside, and as much as I appreciate the ride,” Clint said, “I’m really mad at you right now.”

“I know.”

“Punching you is still on the table.”

“Alright.”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

“Perhaps.”

“I’m also considering kissing you. Possibly both. Same reason.”

Phil didn’t allow himself to show the relief he felt at that. “Understood,” Phil said, then addressed Skye, who’d attempted to sneak into the room while they spoke. “What do you want, Skye?”

“Uh, I drew the short straw?” Skye said. “We just want to know what’s going on.”

“Who’s we?”

“All of us,” Melinda said, pushing into the command center past Skye, followed by FitzSimmons, with Ward bringing up the rear. “Barton,” she said with a nod.

“May,” Clint said.

“Barton, the rest of my team, FitzSimmons and Skye. Everyone, this is Agent Barton,” Phil said.

“I can’t believe Hawkeye is on the Bus,” Skye said, sounding like a fangirl and earning herself an ironic glare from Ward.

“As you know, we’ve been recalled to New York,” Phil said. “Where I’ll get reprimanded for disobeying a direct order from Director Fury, and the rest of you will disavow any knowledge of it.”

“But A.C.,” Skye began.

Phil was not surprised that she was the first to object. “This is not up for discussion,” he told Skye. Phil turned to FitzSimmons. “Sorry we had to cut short your onsite study of the artifact.”

They both hurried to assure him it was fine.

“Ward, please show Barton where he can shower and find him a change of clothes. Also, make sure he eats something. I’ll be in my office.”

Phil left his team and Clint in the command center before anyone could reply or ask any further questions. He wasn’t running away. Exactly. He’d just underestimated how deeply seeing Clint again would affect him. Phil’d had to leave before he gave in and pushed Clint against a hard surface and kissed him right there in front of his team. Or offered to be the one to show Clint to the shower and wash his back.

Phil took off his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair, then sat at his desk and stared at the cleared top of it, searching for something to do to keep him busy so he didn’t think of Clint in the shower, skin wet and slick with soap. Phil jerked his mind back to the task at hand. Their op had been aborted before FitzSimmons had a chance to fully study the artifact, if it was in fact an artifact, and the energy readings it was giving off, but a mission report would still have to be filed.

Phil pulled up the correct form and started filling in the required information, using the code to designate an incomplete mission due to outside forces beyond the control of the mission team with no deaths. Skye was right – they really needed new names for some of these things.

As if thinking about her conjured her up, Skye tapped on the doorframe and said, “Hey, A.C.”

“Skye,” Phil said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. He’d brought her onboard because she cared, he could hardly complain when it was aimed at himself. “What can I do for you?” he asked more genuinely.

“Nothing,” Skye said, moving to stand just inside the open doorway. “What can I do for you?”

Phil sighed. “Nothing. But thank you.”

“No, something,” Skye said, taking another step closer. Skye was never so determined as when she wasn’t allowed to help, to do _something_. “A mug of hot cocoa? We’ve got those little marshmallows. Or, I know! I could tell you a joke.”

“I thought you wanted to help,” Phil said.

“Hey!” Skye said, but she smiled as she said it. “My jokes aren’t that bad.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

“Seriously,” Skye said. “I want to help.”

“I know you do,” Phil said. “But this is a mess I made myself; I need to clean it up.”

“Alright,” Skye relented reluctantly, “but . . . .”

Phil raised his eyebrows.

“Hawkeye?”

“Yes,” Phil said. “Even the amazing Hawkeye needs an assist once in a while.”

“I didn’t mean the rescue,” Skye said slyly. “I was talking about the threat to kiss you.”

Phil refused to blush, but it was a close thing. He should’ve realized she’d neither forget the overheard comment, nor let it go.

“Get out of here before I assign you the task of washing Lola,” Phil said. It was an empty threat. He never let anyone else touch Lola, even to wash her.

Skye grinned. “Sure thing, A.C.”

Phil had just pulled up FitzSimmons’ reports on the artifact, as incomplete as they were, when Melinda appeared in the doorway.

“Are you all tag-teaming me?” Phil said without looking away from the screen.

“Do you need to be tag-teamed?”

“No,” Phil said pointedly.

Melinda didn’t take the hint. She walked into the office and settled into one of the chairs across the desk from Phil as if she’d been invited in. “Barton looks good,” she said innocuously.

Melinda never did anything innocuously. Phil’s reply was a noncommital hum.

“Why were we ordered back?”

“You heard Director Fury,” Phil said.

“Yes, but what does the WSC want with you?”

Phil didn’t allow himself to be thrown by the question. “They want to know what makes me tick,” he said. “Literally.” He turned the move towards the scar on his chest into unnecessarily smoothing his tie.

“And what do they want with Barton?”

Phil’s hesitation was slight, but Melinda didn’t miss it. Still, he had to try. “What makes you think they want Barton?”

Melinda snorted. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said, but Phil knew her too well to relax. “But I’ll only keep looking until I figure it out.”

Phil didn’t sigh, not wanting Melinda to know just how much she’d gotten to him, but it was a near thing. “I need to have this conversation with Cl–, Barton first.”

“Good luck with that,” Melinda said.

~*~*~*~

The next time Phil was interrupted he was nearly finished with the first draft of his report. “No,” he said when he heard a sound at the door. “I don’t want a mug of hot cocoa, with or without marshmallows, or a joke . . . .”

“How about half a sandwich?” Clint said, brandishing a plate. 

“Clint.” Phil jerked his eyes away from the screen in surprise and stared at Clint, gaze taking in the wet hair, the SHIELD issue grey sweat pants and t-shirt, the bare feet. He’d been trying so hard to ignore the fact that Clint was even on the plane, because otherwise he’d get nothing done, that he’d allowed Clint to practically sneak up on him.

“Ward makes a hell of a sandwich,” Clint said as he stepped into Phil’s office.

“He does,” Phil agreed, sitting back and dropping his hands from the keyboard.

“Split it with me?” Clint said.

“I . . . yes, alright,” Phil said.

Clint set the plate on the edge of the desk and took one of the chairs on the other side of it. When Phil didn’t move, Clint raised his eyebrows at him. Phil saved his report, then rolled back his chair and walked around the desk. It was his office, full of his own belongings, and yet he felt out of place, and sort of like a bug under a microscope.

Phil took the empty chair beside Clint, then took half the sandwich when Clint nudged the plate over to him. Phil wondered how he was going to eat the sandwich without making a mess. Clint rolled his eyes and handed the plate back to Phil after he’d taken the other half off it.

“Thank you,” Phil said.

They ate in silence. It wasn’t completely awkward, but it was less than comfortable, and Phil had trouble chewing and swallowing the first bite because his mouth was so dry. Clint finished his half first. He wiped his fingers and mouth on one of the napkins he’d brought and unselfconsciously plucked a piece of lettuce off his leg and popped it into his mouth.

“There’s water in the mini-fridge,” Phil said when he’d swallowed the bite in his mouth.

“How do you rate a mini-fridge?” Clint said as he stood and walked over to it.

Phil dragged his eyes away from the way the material pulled taut over Clint’s shoulders and ass when he bent down to get out the water.

“It was a consolation prize, I think,” Phil said. “From Nick. For putting the kibosh on the fish tank.”

“Fish tank?” Clint said. He handed one of the bottles he’d gotten out to Phil.

Phil took the bottle and shook his head. “Long story.”

When Clint just looked at him expectantly, Phil said, “Suffice to say we’ve already had to repair the Bus and renovate the lounge. I thought it might be nice to have a fish tank. Director Fury disagreed.”

Clint’s lips twitched. “Ix-nay on the fish tank?”

Phil nodded. He finished the last few bites of the sandwich as quickly as he could. Even though he knew this was the calm before the storm, the intensity with which Clint regarded him was unnerving. Clint waited until Phil had wiped his own fingers and mouth, and taken a sip of the water before he spoke.

“So. You’re alive.” The words came out neutral, neither thrilled nor bitter.

“Yes,” Phil said. Apparently they were having this conversation now. He got up to close and lock the door.

“How?” Clint said. “I saw . . . I saw him stab you.”

“But you weren’t even there,” Phil said.

Clint averted his eyes. It only took Phil a moment to realize that Clint had found the security footage of Phil being stabbed, and knowing Clint, had watched it over and over again, blaming himself.

“Clint,” Phil said gently.

“Shut up,” Clint said. “Because you know who wasn’t there? _You_ weren’t there.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Clint’s jaw worked. “I know that,” he snapped. “But if you think that helps, you are so very, very wrong,” Clint said.

“I’m sorry,” Phil said. And he was. For so many things. And yet, he’d do it all over again if he had to, because keeping Clint safe wasn’t something he’d ever be sorry for.

“That doesn’t help, either,” Clint said harshly, then more softly. “Tell me what happened.”

“I did die,” Phil said. He didn’t give Clint the forty second spiel because it didn’t seem funny now, nor did he tell him how many times he’d died on the operating table. “Somehow the doctors were able to save me. Even they didn’t know how, they called me a miracle. As it turns out, that wasn’t far from the truth.”

“What do you mean?” Clint said. “Did it have something to do with the Asgard . . . ?”

“No,” Phil said. “Nothing like that. But equally as unbelievable.” He hesitated. To tell Clint would be to put him in even more danger, but to continue to carry the secret now that Clint knew he was alive . . . .

“It’s dangerous,” Phil said. “Me telling you this.”

“You haven’t told me anything,” Clint complained impatiently.

“Classified, bullet to the back of the head kind of dangerous,” Phil went on as if Clint hadn’t spoken.

“Yes, but apparently I’m already in danger,” Clint said, “since you went to such lengths to make sure Fury kept me safe.”

Phil wanted to explain that Clint hadn’t been in danger from their own people before, but who were the WSC supposed to be if not their own people? And addressing Clint’s comment about keeping him safe was a minefield of its own. Phil swallowed hard.

“Clint . . . .”

“Just tell me,” Clint said. “Because right now the only one in danger here is you. Of a broken jaw. And also, you’re starting to freak me out.”

Phil wanted to smile at the normality of it all, but he knew Clint wouldn’t understand, would take offense, and so he bit it back.

“That’s not my intention,” Phil said. He sighed and began the story. “Many years ago, when I was young and naive and full of patriotic fervor . . . .”

“So not much different than you are now?” Clint said.

Phil was neither young, nor naive, and his fervor had been tarnished over the years, but now wasn’t the time for that discussion, so he ignored Clint’s comment and continued with his explanation.

“. . . I signed up for an experimental program.” Phil hesitated, waiting to see if Clint would guess without him having to explain. When Clint didn’t say anything, Phil went on.

“They’d been trying to reproduce the super soldier serum for years . . . .”

“Jesus Christ!” Clint said. “You and your Captain America obsession, you had to go and sign up for that?”

Phil bit his tongue on getting into a debate with Clint over his respect and idolization of Captain America as an American icon and getting side-tracked, even if he’d rather have that conversation than this one.

“He’d been brave when he didn’t have to be,” Phil said. “I couldn’t do any less.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Clint said resignedly. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Phil said with a shrug. “It didn’t work.”

“But . . . .”

“It didn’t seem to, anyway. At least, not then. The program, that one, at any rate, was scrapped and we were all sent back to our units. Each of us received commendations in our records and everyone moved on.”

“It healed you,” Clint said. “Somehow . . . it kept you alive.”

“Yes,” Phil said. “Somehow. It must have lain dormant, or mostly dormant, all these years, until it was activated, or triggered, or whatever the proper medical term is, by my death.”

“And now the WSC wants to take you apart and run tests and study you.”

“Yes.”

“What do they want from me?” Clint said.

“At first,” Phil said, swallowing hard, “they wanted someone to blame for what happened on the Helicarrier, but now . . . . Nick and I both knew what my survival meant, knew they’d want to study me, see if they could use my case to refine the serum. If they knew I’d survived.”

“And so you continued to play dead,” Clint said, hurt and anger bleeding through even though he now understood the circumstances behind that decision.

“Yes. In return for Fury keeping you safe. That was my price.”

“How was he supposed to do that?” Clint said. “Wouldn’t knowing I was in danger have been the better way to keep me safe?”

“You already blamed yourself for things that weren’t your fault . . . .”

“You can’t protect me from everything!” Clint said.

“I can damned well try!” Phil said. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Fury was supposed to keep you with the Avengers. And any SHIELD ops, which were supposed to be few and far between, were supposed to be team missions only, where you had back-up, no solo missions, he swore to me . . . .”

Choked up, Phil broke off to regain his composure. “He promised me,” Phil said. “Especially . . . .”

“Especially what?”

“Someone at the WSC got wind that I might be alive. You were in greater danger then because they would’ve, and could have, used you to get to me. I would’ve given them whatever they wanted if they had you.”

“So they were going to, what, hold me hostage like some damsel in distress?” Clint said.

Phil’s lips twitched despite the seriousness of their discussion. “Yes, well, clearly they don’t know you very well.”

“Clearly,” Clint said. He waited a beat before saying, “I’m so freaking mad at you. But I’m so glad you’re alive.”

Phil didn’t respond to that, because what was there to say? He decided that silence might’ve been the wrong tack to take when Clint rose to his feet and said, “Stand up.”

“Are you going to punch me now?” Phil said as he stood. He wouldn’t stop Clint if that’s what he needed. Phil knew he deserved that and more.

“I’m not taking it off the table,” Clint said as his hand shot out, wrapped around the back of Phil’s neck, and reeled him in.

Phil made a sound when their lips crashed together, *surprise* and *relief* and *yes*, because this was what he’d been missing, what he’d been afraid to hope for. Clint nipped at Phil’s lips and licked into his mouth. Phil reached for Clint, needing to hold on to him so he didn’t just fly apart. One hand fell on Clint’s back, the other on his hip. Phil squeezed, and then desperately searched for bare skin, one hand slipping underneath the hem of the t-shirt, the other beneath the waistband of the sweats.

“Please tell me that door’s locked,” Clint said.

“Yes,” Phil said, breathless and eager to have Clint’s mouth on him again. “But just let me . . . .”

Clint backed them up until Phil’s back hit the door. Phil reluctantly dragged one hand away from Clint’s bare skin and slapped it against the palm reader just to make sure.

“Lock,” Phil said breathlessly.

“Locks already engaged,” the mechanical voice replied.

“Awesome,” Clint said, and then he kissed Phil again.

They didn’t move from the door for a long time and Phil was glad for the support at his back as they moved against each other, kissing until their lips were swollen, hands roaming in an attempt to touch as much skin as possible, their movements frantic with a desire fueled by the overwhelming relief they felt in knowing that their once-held belief that they’d never see the other again had been proved wrong.

Phil was so hard he ached with it. “Clint, please.”

Clint dragged Phil away from the door, then hesitated. “Please tell me you’ve got something larger than that couch.”

Phil touched a button on the wall and the couch unfolded to a double bed that was more comfortable than the hard couch cushions would lead you to believe.

“Nice,” Clint said, and then pushed Phil down on his back and crawled between his thighs. He unzipped Phil’s slacks and reached inside to fish him out.

“I could take them off,” Phil said mildly, if a little (okay, a lot) breathless.

“No,” Clint said. “I want you just like this.”

Phil shivered at the heat in Clint’s voice, the hunger in his eyes as he looked at Phil’s cock, which jutted obscenely from his slacks. Clint swooped down and took Phil into his mouth. Phil’s hips jerked before he could stop himself.

“Sorry.”

“No,” Clint rasped. “Do it. Fuck my mouth. I want you to.”

Phil groaned at the words, then again as Clint took him back in. He pushed his fingers into Clint’s hair, enjoying the feel of the soft strands against his palms. He cupped the back of Clint’s head and held him as he lifted his hips and fucked into his mouth. Clint moaned his approval around Phil, and he nearly lost it then.

Phil held back his orgasm by sheer determination to not come like a teenager. Clint, as if he knew Phil was fighting it, reached into his slacks and squeezed his balls. Phil made a sound deep in his throat and let go, fucking into Clint’s mouth with little finesse and less control. His orgasm began in his toes, which attempted to curl in his dress shoes, rushing through his body and smashing everything in its wake.

When Phil could feel the tips of his fingers again they were no longer buried in Clint’s hair. Clint had removed Phil’s shoes and was in the process of pulling slacks and boxer briefs down Phil’s legs.

“Off,” Clint said when he realized Phil was back. “I want all of it off.”

Phil reached for his tie with fingers that weren’t quite ready to recognize the signals from his brain. He felt cool air on his legs, and then his toes as his socks were dealt with. Clint crawled up his body and knelt over him as he took over unknotting the tie.

“Having trouble, sir?” Clint said, smirking.

“Smug isn’t a good look on you, Barton,” Phil said.

“Liar.”

Phil couldn’t argue.

Clint tugged the tie out from around Phil’s neck and gave it a contemplative look before tossing it negligently over his shoulder. Phil thought he should probably protest the treatment, but Clint’s fingers had moved on to the buttons of his shirt and Phil got distracted by the sensation of Clint’s knuckles brushing his chest through the material.

Clint pushed the collar away from Phil’s throat. He bent down and placed his mouth there, replacing the starched material with his lips and tongue as he sucked a mark, his mark, into Phil’s skin. Clint’s fingers continued to work the buttons, and by the time he was satisfied with the mark Phil’s shirt was completely unbuttoned.

Clint slipped the buttons at the cuffs and helped Phil sit up so he could push the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, dropping it over the side of the bed before sliding his hands beneath the hem of the t-shirt. “Everything,” Clint said when Phil hesitated. “Want you naked.”

Clint bent his head and kissed Phil before he could come up with a reply. He worked the t-shirt up, releasing Phil’s lips only so he could get it over his head. “You’re mine,” Clint said, sounding as if he needed the reassurance as much as Phil. “All of you.”

Clint kissed Phil back onto the mattress, and Phil clung to his shoulders. Phil was breathless when Clint broke the kiss and brushed his lips over Phil’s jaw and down his throat. Phil felt Clint’s hand move between them.

“Clint . . . .”

Clint groaned. “Gonna come all over you.”

Phil’s fingers scrabbled at Clint’s t-shirt, pulling it up until his fingers could get to bare skin. Clint stopped what he was doing and raised his head just long enough to get the t-shirt over it. Phil’s fingers dug into Clint’s shoulders as Clint’s mouth went back to Phil’s throat before licking a path down to Phil’s scar.

“Does it hurt?” Clint said as he pressed a reverent kiss there.

“No,” Phil said.

Phil’s fingers found the short hairs in Clint’s neck as he licked Phil’s scar, then a nipple, then back up to his collarbone, his hand having found its way back inside his sweat pants.

“Close,” Clint grunted.

“Do it,” Phil said. “Come on me.”

Clint groaned and sat up enough so Phil could see the hand working his cock, the sweats pushed down his hips, the stripes of come that painted his skin as Clint did what he’d asked and came all over him. The arm Clint had braced on the mattress shook, but he held himself up until he’d emptied himself across Phil’s cock and stomach.

Clint released himself and dragged his fingers through his come, spreading it over Phil’s skin from his balls to the scar on his chest. “Mine,” Clint said, as he finally allowed his arm to give out and he fell to the bed half beside and half on top of Phil.

With Clint’s warm, even breaths against his neck, Phil couldn’t bring himself to care that Clint’s come was drying on his skin and sure to be uncomfortable when he finally moved. Instead he shifted around, getting Clint out of the sweat pants and pulling the blankets over them, and held onto Clint until he fell asleep.

Just a few minutes more, Phil told himself, loathe to get up when that would mean his arms would be empty. And just a few minutes more after that.

~*~*~*~

Phil didn’t wake until his alarm went off. It took him a moment to figure out what the noise was. He didn’t sleep well since he’d died and was usually up before the alarm rang, turning it off with a resigned snap of his wrist. Phil wasn’t surprised that he’d gotten his first good night of sleep while lying next to Clint.

They’d shifted a bit during the night, so Clint was no longer lying half on Phil, which made it easier to untangle their limbs and slip out of bed without Clint coming fully awake. Clint made a soft sound of protest that Phil had missed hearing, and then spread out over the entire mattress. The sheet had slipped down during Clint’s movement, and Phil pulled it up over his shoulders, only allowing himself that brief touch.

Though he wanted to spend much more time just watching Clint sleep, Phil made himself begin his morning routine, knowing he would already be in for a good-natured ribbing because of the unusually late start. And that didn’t even take into account the that would be raised due to the fact that Clint had slept in his bed last night.

Showered and once more dressed in a suit that armored him against the worst the day could throw at him, including the gentle mocking of his team and a meeting with Director Fury that he wasn’t looking forward to in the slightest, Phil at last felt ready to face the day.

“You can stop staring now,” Phil told Clint as he examined his reflection in the mirror, making sure his tie was straight, snapping his shirt cuffs.

“I really can’t,” Clint said.

Phil had never blushed before when Clint said something suggestive, and he wasn’t going to start now, but the warmth that spread through his body at Clint’s comment made that difficult.

“I need to go check on the kids,” Phil said.

“Will they get in trouble if left unsupervised too long?”

“You have no idea.”

Clint grinned. “Just like old times, then?”

“Not in the slightest,” Phil said, and gave in to the urge to lean down and brush his lips across Clint’s. “You’ve got a couple hours until we land.”

Clint’s smile softened. “Come back to bed, then.”

“Tempting,” Phil said lightly to cover just how very tempting it was. “Come down when you’re ready. I should see how FitzSimmons are coming on the artifact. I really should have checked on them last night.”

“I like what we did better.”

“So do I,” Phil admitted. Something else he wouldn’t have done previously, even if he’d thought it to himself, even if it had been impossible to separate his feelings for Clint from their ops. Still, Phil decided that retreat was the better form of valor and made his escape before he said anything even more revealing.

The entire team was in the lounge when Phil descended the stairs, something he really should’ve expected. Ward sat at one of the tables eating a perfectly cooked omelet, FitzSimmons sat at the next table with bowls of oatmeal flavored with fresh fruit and glasses of orange juice, Skye sat on a couch with her feet tucked under her and a bowl of cereal in her hands, and Melinda sat in a chair with a tablet in her hand and a cup of coffee at her elbow.

“Good morning, everyone,” Phil said as he headed towards the kitchen area to pour himself a cup of the coffee he’d smelled as soon as he’d opened his office door.

Good mornings were returned around mouthfuls of food. Melinda waited a beat before saying, “Sleep well?”

Having spent many years with Clint (and then Natasha) trying to disrupt his calm demeanor, Phil was prepared for it. “Very well, thank you,” he said, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred the night before. “I hope the rest of you slept well,” Phil went on. “FitzSimmons, I hope you didn’t stay up all night studying the readings you took.”

Both Fitz and Simmons shifted guiltily. “Well, not _all_ night, sir,” Simmons said.

“Yeah, they eventually fell asleep where they were sitting,” Skye said. “Fitz still has keyboard marks on his face.”

“Do not,” Fitz said, even as he reached up and touched the side of his face.

“Agent May, how long until we land?”

“One hour, forty-seven minutes,” Melinda said.

Before Phil could reiterate that none of them were to be implicated in his actions in extracting Clint against orders, that very same person appeared on the stairs. Clint moved silently unless he wanted to be heard, so Phil’s first indication that he was there was when Skye’s mouth fell open, regardless of the spoon still in it.

Phil didn’t have to wait long to see why she’d reacted like that – Clint’s hair still bore evidence of Phil’s hands and sleep, and he wore the borrowed sweat pants, which rode low on his hips, and nothing else. His chest and feet were bare, and he moved gracefully, unselfconsciously. Phil’s mouth began to water despite the fact that he’d seen Clint like that before on many occasions. If he’d thought himself inured to it, he’d been wrong..

“Morning,” Clint said casually to the room in general when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

No one replied, and a quick glance around the space told Phil that everyone, including Ward and Melinda, were staring at Clint in a manner similar to Skye.

“Good morning,” Phil said to cover for his team, ignoring the fact that he’d already greeted Clint upstairs.

Clint in turn ignored the stares, though Phil knew he was fully aware of them. He stopped next to Phil. “Mmm, coffee.”

Clint stole the cup out of Phil’s lax grip and took a sip of the coffee in a move more intimate than a kiss, though his eyes on Phil’s lips told Phil that he’d rather have the kiss. Clint’s nose wrinkled up adorably as he handed the cup back to Phil.

“Needs cream and sugar.”

“You could have cream and sugar if you fixed your own cup rather than stealing mine,” Phil said.

“What’d be the fun in that?” Clint said with a grin, then turned to face the others. “Not saying anyone here is responsible for my laundry, but would my clothes still be in the dryer?”

“I don’t believe anyone else did laundry yesterday, so yes,” Melinda said.

“Thanks,” Clint said, and then headed towards the laundry room.

Phil couldn’t help the blush when he saw the scratches on Clint’s back. He didn’t remember putting them there, and he hoped no one else noticed them.

“I want one of those,” Skye said, staring at the last place she’d seen Clint before he’d disappeared from sight.

Melinda snorted. “You couldn’t handle one of those.”

“I don’t need to handle, I could just stare,” Skye said before looking hopefully at Phil. “Can we keep him?” she pleaded.

“Hey,” Ward said, sounding as if he knew he should be put out about something, but not sure exactly what.

“Not that you’re not all . . . you,” Skye said, “but he’s . . . .”

“Thanks for the use of your laundry facilities,” Clint said, reappearing suddenly. From the sparkle in his eyes, Phil figured Clint had heard most of that exchange.

“I’m just going to take a shower now,” Clint went on. “You don’t mind if I use yours, do you?” he asked Phil.

The tone was light, however the expression on his face was anything but.

“Of course not,” Phil said, getting the words out on his second try.

“. . . all that,” Skye finished with a sigh as Clint disappeared back up the stairs. “Even A.C. gets flustered by him, right A.C.?”

“Right,” Simmons breathed.

“Hey,” Fitz said.

Simmons looked around guiltily. “What?”

“Yes, well, I need to finish my mission report,” Phil said, “but before I do that, I wanted to assure all of you that whatever happens when we land, this is all on me. None of you had any part in it.”

Phil looked at each of them to make sure they understood. Convinced that they did, Phil returned to the coffee machine to reheat his cup and make one up for Clint. Both Skye and Simmons, and oddly enough, Ward a little bit, were giving him twin looks of ‘awww.’

Phil had one foot on the bottom step when Melinda said, “Just answer one thing. Would you do it again?”

Phil stopped and looked back at her. “In a heartbeat.”

Melinda studied him for a moment, then nodded.

“Let me know when we’re five minutes out.”

“Yes, sir,” Melinda said.

Phil continued up the stairs. The shower was running and the bed had been returned to its hiding place. Phil walked over to the desk and used the side of his hand to nudge over a coaster so he could set down Clint’s cup on the corner of the desk.

Phil sat in his chair and set his own cup on the coaster already in place. He woke up his computer and entered his password, then pulled up the draft report he’d saved yesterday. Before reading it over, Phil thought about what he was going to tell Nick when he saw him. Which reminded him.

Phil walked to the top of the stairs and called to Skye. She appeared immediately.

“You need me to come up there, A.C.?”

Melinda snorted.

“No,” Phil said, fighting to keep a straight face. “Can you delete any trace of what we did yesterday, with the camera feeds and facial recognition program?”

“If the system doesn’t do an info dump off site,” Skye said.

“Do it,” Phil commanded. It wasn’t as if Fury didn’t already know what they’d done, but the less evidence to implicate the rest of his team, the better.

Clint was sitting on the couch tying up his boots when Phil stepped back into the office. His hair was wet, his usual black t-shirt stuck to damp skin along his back. Phil thought about pulling the door shut behind him, but decided it was safer to leave it open.

“Enjoy your shower?” Phil said dryly.

Clint raised his head and grinned at Phil. “Not as much as I could have.”

Phil shook his head. “I left myself wide open for that one.”

Clint just smirked.

“Please don’t,” Phil said as he retook his seat behind the desk, knowing that Clint could find innuendo in just about anything.

Clint walked over and picked up the cup Phil had left on the coaster for him. “Is this mine?” he said, taking a sip without waiting for an answer. “Mmm, just the way I like it.” He gave Phil a soft look that Phil couldn’t help returning.

“The door’s staying open, though.”

Clint raised a hand. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I have a report to finish before we land.”

“Better get to it, then, sir.”

Clint was as good as his (implied) word. He silently prowled Phil’s office, exploring, cup of coffee in one hand as the other reached out once in a while to touch something on the shelves, and left Phil alone to finalize and submit his report. When he closed the report and pushed the chair back from his desk, Clint had settled on the couch with a book. Phil knew from experience that the couch wasn’t all that comfortable, but the way Clint sprawled on it made it appear as if it was.

Phil didn’t say anything, just watched Clint, drinking in the sight of him.

“Finish your report?” Clint said without taking his eyes away from the page he was reading.

“Yes,” Phil said, not entirely surprised that he’d been caught staring.

“How long before we land?” Clint said, closing the book and leaning over to set it on the shelf beside the couch.

Phil raised his eyebrows. “Not long enough for what you have in mind,” he said.

“You don’t know what I have in mind,” Clint said as he rose gracefully from the couch.

“I have a pretty good idea,” Phil said, heart beating a little faster as Clint stalked across the small space between them.

“Maybe you should share, then,” Clint said, reaching out for Phil’s hand.

Phil didn’t resist when Clint pulled him up out of the chair. “The door’s open,” he reminded Clint.

Clint raised his eyebrows this time. “I’m not sure what you think I’m going to do that requires a closed door,” he said.

“I’m not sure if I’m disappointed about that or not,” Phil said honestly, glad he had when Clint smiled at him.

“I should probably preface this by telling you that I’m still mad at you for lying to me,” Clint said.

“I know,” Phil said. “Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

“That’s usually my line,” Clint said as he sat on the couch and pulled Phil down beside him.

“Yes, well, apparently you’ve rubbed off on me,” Phil said.

“I can’t tell if you lob these softballs at me on purpose or not,” Clint said.

“Neither can I,” Phil said.

They sat in silence, fingers entwined, their joined hands resting on Phil’s leg, their sides touching from shoulder to knee, until Melinda’s voice over the comms announced that they were five minutes out.

“Thank you,” Phil replied, and then fell silent again.

“I’ve missed this,” Clint said after half a minute had passed. “Just being with you.”

“So have I,” Phil said.

He wondered which was worse, thinking your partner dead and that you’d never have that again, or being alive and knowing that you could have it if you weren’t denying it to yourself. It probably made no difference, each being a hellish experience in their own way.

“He’s not taking you away from me again,” Clint said, as if he’d read Phil’s mind.

Clint’s tone was even, his voice soft, but there was steel behind the words that told Phil how serious he was.

“No,” Phil agreed.

He didn’t know how Nick intended to handle this latest feint by the WSC, but as far as Clint was concerned, the cat was well and truly out of the bag and Phil had zero intention of pretending otherwise. He’d only agreed to the ruse in the first place because Clint’s safety had been paramount to him. He should’ve realized, with Clint, nothing could be guaranteed.

“What are you thinking?” Clint said.

“That I was trying to keep you safe, but trouble seems to find you anyway.”

“And your conclusion?”

“Clearly I need to keep a closer eye on you,” Phil said

“Same,” Clint said. “If you try to disappear, I will hunt you down.”

Phil thought it was ridiculous how pleased he was to hear that. “Yes, well, I’ll hold you to that,” he said. “But first . . . .”

“Yes,” Clint said. “I’m looking forward to seeing Director Fury.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Phil said.

“Me?” Clint said.

Phil raised his eyebrows. Just then he felt the Bus begin it’s vertical descent. “We’re landing.”

“We should get going, then,” Clint said.

“Yes.”

Phil didn’t get anything more out because Clint leaned over and kissed him. They didn’t break the kiss until Phil was breathless and his free hand had thoroughly mussed Clint’s hair. Phil cleared his throat and tried to remember what he’d been planning to say. Clint grinned broadly at having once again been able to knock Phil’s brain offline.

“Let’s get going. We don’t want to keep Fury waiting.”

“No,” Phil agreed.

They met Ward and Skye in the lounge. There was an awkward moment when Clint went to get his bag and Phil could tell that Skye, and even Ward, wanted to say something.

“Don’t worry about me,” Phil said firmly.

Melinda approached from the cockpit.

“Agent May,” Phil greeted her. Melinda nodded to him.

As soon as Clint returned, Phil led them down to the lower deck. FitzSimmons stood outside the lab, both looking nervous and upset.

“FitzSimmons,” Phil greeted them. He waited until his team stood together. “I want you all to know that it’s been a pleasure to work with you. I’ll make sure that none of this blows back on you.”

“We don’t care about that!” Skye said.

“No, we really don’t,” FitzSimmons said, speaking over each other.

Melinda and Ward didn’t deny it, though they knew that careers had been cut short for much less.

“I do,” Phil said firmly. “Come on, we don’t want to keep the Director waiting.”

Phil turned and walked towards the back of the Bus and Melinda opened the ramp. Clint placed himself at Phil’s shoulder and he felt his team gather at his back. Clint reached out and took Phil’s hand, and Phil squeezed it gratefully.

“Did I thank you for coming for me yesterday?” Clint said softly.

“Which time?” Phil said just as softly.

It took a moment for Clint to get over his shock and start laughing. Despite the seriousness of the moment, Phil couldn’t help the smile that threatened to spread across his own face. Clint squeezed Phil’s hand just as the ramp lowered enough for Phil to see Nick standing beside an SUV with dark tinted windows, surrounded by several armed SHIELD agents and glowering at the Bus.

“Not letting you go,” Clint said.

Phil didn’t know if Clint would be able to keep his word, but he appreciated the sentiment. Phil felt someone move up to stand at his other shoulder. He turned his head to reprimand Skye, only to find Melinda standing there, chin up and staring straight ahead.

“Agent May.”

Melinda gave Phil a long, blank stare, then turned to face forward again. As she did so, Skye stepped up next to her. A squeeze of his hand alerted Phil to the fact that FitzSimmons and Ward were now also flanking Clint.

Phil sighed. “I appreciate the sentiment, but what you’re doing is . . . .” Dangerous. “. . . unnecessary.”

“We’re a team,” Skye said. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Well, looks like you got your wish, because if there’s one thing we can rally around, it’s you.”

“We don’t need you to protect us,” Ward said.

“What he said,” Fitz said.

“Yes!” Simmons agreed.

“I really enjoyed filing,” Melinda said.

“I don’t even know what that means,” Phil said.

“It means we’ve all got your back,” Clint said.

When Phil looked back out at Nick, he directed his glower at Phil. Phil squared his shoulders in determination and started down the ramp. He couldn’t deny that it was nice to have Clint and his team beside him, even though he was probably leading them all to their doom.

“We chose this,” Clint reminded Phil as he kept pace beside him, as if he could read Phil’s mind. “And I will always choose you.”

The words eased the tension out of Phil’s spine despite his determination to keep his team safe. It was nice to know that he wasn’t in this alone even though he didn’t want anyone else being punished for his actions.

“Ditto,” Phil said.

Clint was still sputtering when they reached Fury.

“Coulson. Barton,” Fury said. He pointedly glanced at Phil’s and Clint’s clasped hands. “We need to talk.”

“We really do,” Clint said before Phil could reply. “Meet us at Stark Towers in two hours. That should give us enough time to settle everyone in.”

“This conversation is going to happen at SHIELD HQ,” Fury said with a withering glare. “The fact that Coulson’s still alive cannot get out.”

“Seems to me it’s already gotten out,” Melinda said dryly, at the same time Clint gave an unrepentant, “Oops.”

“What did you do?” Phil said.

Before Clint could answer, one of the agents went on alert and reached for his comm. “Sir, incoming.”

“What is it?” Fury demanded.

“Uh, it appears to be Iron Man.”

“What the hell!” Fury said. He turned on Clint. “Tell me that you did not call the Avengers in on this.”

“Of course not,” Clint said. “I called Natasha.”

Fury went off on a tear of swear words, some of which were new even to Phil. Iron Man landed to Fury’s left. He raised his faceplate and looked at Phil.

“It’s true, then,” Stark said. “I thought maybe Barton had finally lost it.”

“This is not Avenger business,” Fury said, at the same time someone behind them (Fitz, Phil thought), said, “Oh my god, it’s Iron Man!”

“You really have learned nothing about handling Tony Stark, have you?” Phil said.

“Nobody _handles_ me,” Stark said, offended.

“Pepper handles you,” Clint said.

“Pepper’s earned the right,” Stark said. He turned his head as three SUVs pulled up on the tarmac. “Your ride’s here.”

Behind them Skye whimpered when Black Widow, Bruce Banner, and Captain America climbed out of the SUVs.

“You let Steve drive?” Phil said, aghast.

“He took lessons and got his driver’s license,” Clint said.

The Captain, in full uniform, strode over to them while Black Widow and Banner remained with the vehicles. He stopped before Phil.

“Agent Coulson, it’s good to see you again, sir.”

“Thank you,” Phil said, slightly tongue-tied. It wasn’t as if he’d had time to get over the fact that they’d found Captain America before his ‘death’ on the Helicarrier. “It’s good to be seen.”

Beside him, Clint snorted.

Captain Rogers placed his hand on Clint’s shoulder and looked at him as if he could tell how Clint was doing merely by looking at him. Clint nodded and Rogers stepped back, satisfied.

“We should get going,” Rogers said.

Without a word from Fury, the agents flanking him chambered a bullet. Rogers turned to look at him.

“Do you really want to do that?”

Fury looked at Phil. “Coulson.”

It was time for Phil to make another decision, so close on the heels of the one that had returned Clint to him. Phil knew that whatever he chose, Clint would remain with him, so he wasn’t worried about that, but Phil had chosen SHIELD before, had chosen SHIELD all his life. Maybe it was time to choose differently. Clint was relaxed at Phil’s side, his thumb stroking the back of Phil’s hand as he waited calmly for Phil’s decision.

“We’re going to have to figure out how to include them in my life again,” Phil said.

Nick swore. “Damn it, it’s not safe,” he said.

“How could he be safer?” Melinda said.

“Yeah,” Skye said. “I mean, it’s the _Avengers_.”

“I meant Ward and myself,” Melinda said with a glare at Skye.

“Right, that, too,” Skye backtracked.

“Maybe not,” Phil told Nick, ignoring the bickering behind him. “But they’ll all be safer if they know.” Phil wouldn’t put it past the WSC to take any one of the Avengers if they thought it would draw out Phil. “And I don’t want to hide anymore. Not from them.”

Clint squeezed his hand, and Phil squeezed back. He didn’t want to hide from Clint.

Fury glared at Clint. “I knew it was a mistake to send you to Kabala.”

“You don’t make mistakes, sir,” Clint said.

For a moment Phil remembered Clint’s unusual op in Kabala and wondered at the coincidence of them both being in the same place at the same time, but then Fury heaved a resigned sigh and it fled from Phil’s mind.

“Two hours,” Fury agreed. “Keep him out of sight,” he told Clint.

“You don’t have to worry about Phil’s safety when he’s with me,” Clint promised.

“Make sure that I don’t,” Fury said, and then he gave Phil a look.

“Thank you,” Phil said, because he knew that Fury could’ve made waves so long as he wasn’t averse to alienating the Avengers, and then he let Clint lead him over to the waiting SUVs.

Melinda and Skye were directed to the SUV with Banner, Clint and Phil to the SUV with Natasha, and Ward and FitzSimmons to the SUV with Captain Rogers. Phil didn’t say anything about his team being taken to Stark Tower with them; until he knew what was going to happen to him, he didn’t feel right sending them to HQ without any kind of backup.

“Agent Romanov,” Phil said when they reached their designated ride.

“Agent Coulson,” Natasha said. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, sir, but I’m going to kick your ass on the mat later.”

Phil smiled. “It’s good to see you, too, Natasha.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and gave Clint a look. “Get in.”

Before they climbed into the SUV that would take them to Stark Towers, Phil glanced back at where Rogers sat behind the wheel. “Are you sure it’s safe to let him drive?”

“No,” Clint said. “But he gives you these puppy dog eyes and you just can’t tell him no.”

Phil glared at Clint, which only earned him a grin. “You’d better get in before Natasha decides not to wait to kick your ass.”

Phil got into the backseat and slid over so Clint could join him. As soon as the door was closed, Natasha spoke into her comms and a moment later they started moving. Despite the long debriefing in his immediate future, and the fact that the WSC wanted to get their hands on him, Phil felt himself relaxing, releasing a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding onto for the past six months. Being here with Clint and Natasha, it was like coming home.

“What are you thinking?” Clint asked softly.

“It’s good to be home,” Phil said, and he didn’t need to look at Clint to know he was smiling.

The End


End file.
